


The Demon's Confession

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Trans Female Character, female pronouns for Grelle, fiery passion, he in loooove, the demon catches feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 06:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19997680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: Sebastian wonders what exactly Grelle means to him, realizing he has a confession to make...





	The Demon's Confession

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a fic prompt in which I was requested to incorporate the verb "confess" into a short Sebagrelle fic. This is a standalone oneshot distinct from my main "You Reap What You Sow" verse, and I wrote it in a frenzy of OTP feels at 2 AM, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I headcanon that Grelle and Bassy often speak to one another in different languages, hence the smattering of French and German near the end.

_What is this? How shall I call it?_

The demon had always prided himself on his cleverness. He was fluent in myriad languages, and his honeyed tongue had lured many a gullible human to his (or, less often, her) damnation. Why, then, could he not find a word for the feeling that stirred within him when Grelle Sutcliff held his hand?

They cautiously crept through the manor’s halls to their bedroom.

_How absurd of me. It’s_ my _bedroom…_

But it wasn’t, really. Not anymore. Dresses and high heels were stored in the wardrobe. Tubes of lipstick mysteriously found their way into the drawers of the bedstand. Grelle’s scent lingered on the pillowcase long after she left in the morning, for dispatch. It was _their_ room, their little sanctuary from his obligations as a butler and her dreary duties as a reaper.

_How the hell did I let this happen?_

He pondered the question as he slowly shut the door.

It had started as a game (or so he’d told himself at the time), Grelle appearing late one evening to spar with him. Sebastian had disarmed her, pinned her by the wrists against a wall…and kissed her with a reckless abandon that was most unbecoming of a Phantomhive servant.

‘Why are you so _persistently_ and _exceedingly_ troublesome, Grelle Sutcliff?’ he’d snarled in vexation as he hungrily sought that ruby-red mouth, which he could distinctly feel stretch in a mocking, lascivious smirk. That only aggravated him further, and he’d kissed her more savagely, little caring if her teeth cut and bloodied his lips. She’d tasted of iron, scarlet, and dire need.

‘Oh, I can create still more _trouble_ for you, Bassy, if you’d like,’ she’d purred, boundlessly confident even as she submitted to him, knees weakening.

For reasons that eluded him, he’d taken her up on the offer, bedding her without regard to the ways in which this violated his demon’s aesthetics or the ancient laws that governed the interactions between their races. Just once wouldn’t hurt. All creatures have their hungers; if he and Grelle happened to satiate one another, so be it. The story should have ended there.

Until the night she returned. And the third night. And the fourth. Fighting and making love with equal intensity, they seemed to become more closely intertwined with each encounter. Every night, Sebastian swore that he would put an end to this madness, and, every night, the fire in her eyes drew him back in. Grelle was a woman aflame, and how beautifully she burned when surrounded by his darkness!

Demons’ courtships with those of their own kind normally proceeded in this manner. Dueling, testing the other’s mettle, and, if both survived, coming together…though that was nonsense, of course, he would hastily remind himself. Poppycock. Whatever he and Grelle had, it certainly wasn’t a courtship. She was a reaper, and he had a contract to fulfill. Any union would of necessity be writ in water, dissolving ere it was formed.

Yet the ground had shifted, somehow. Gradually, their skirmishes grew shorter and less violent. His touch was gentler, and Grelle played with his hair while she murmured little endearments in French. Grelle told him about her childhood and the lonely hardships of her unique condition. Though Sebastian hadn’t always understood, he listened attentively, and he did his best to console her, for Grelle’s pain was his pain now. He fretted when Grelle didn’t eat properly or took unnecessary risks on the job, and he learned to his surprise that giving and receiving hugs was immensely enjoyable. The demon daydreamed about her while preparing tea or dusting candelabras. The servants noted that he seemed in better spirits than before. The demon had overheard Bardroy sagely telling Mey Rin, ‘I bet Mister Sebastian’s got ‘imself a gal, ‘e smiles so much these days.’

With a mischievous grin, Grelle began divesting the demon of his tailcoat, bringing Sebastian back to the present. He kissed her softly, deftly unbuttoning her shirtfront as they guided one another to bed.

_What does she make me feel?_

It was far more than lust, but not friendship…from the very beginning, their relationship had never been what one could deem platonic.

_There is one word that might fit…_

Humans often used it as a placeholder, an excuse for all sorts of outrageous behavior, a lie intended to make family members or more amorous companions easier to control.

_A word often bastardized and twisted beyond all recognition…but, when one goes to the root of its meaning, doesn’t it signify caring? An unbreakable connection between two souls?_

He took Grelle in his arms, holding her close.

“Miss Sutcliff,” he whispered, feeling strangely awkward and shy.

“Yes, Bassy?” she asked, eyes glowing tenderly.

“I…am not accustomed to such things, but, well, I…there is something I wish to…confess…” To his chagrin, the demon blushed.

Grelle’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Goodness me, _mon cher_ , you’re tongue-tied this evening,” she teased, cupping his face in her hands.

“Well, I…” Sebastian stammered, finally getting it out in a rush, “I love you.”

How odd that such small words contained such great power.

The reaper froze, staring at him incredulously. In a trice, her arms were wrapped tightly about him, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Grelle trembled, her body wracked with sobs.

“S-say it again,” she pleaded.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” he whispered, rubbing her back soothingly and attempting to hide his consternation. Had he said something wrong? Though Grelle’s feelings ran deep, she rarely wept so.

“A-again, darling?”

“ _Ich liebe dich_.”

Was she offended? Did she prefer that this remain a simple dalliance?

She unsteadily sat up, tilting his chin so that her tearful peridot eyes met his crimson ones. “Just once more, Sebas,” she said shakily.

“I love you, Miss Sutcliff,” he said, voice quiet but resolute. “Even if the stars fall into the sea and the gates of hell shatter and crumble. You’re my woman.”

“Oh, look at you, making me cry and smudge my makeup,” she sniffed, giving him a watery smile before pressing her lips to his forehead. “I love you too, you silly demon. I love you too.”

Tears of happiness, then? It seemed contradictory, but all reapers had been human once, and humans were nothing if not paradoxical.

_She loves me too._

_ She loves me. _

There were many who disputed whether demons had hearts. However, as warmth flooded Sebastian’s chest and he drew Grelle to him, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he did.


End file.
